


Impossible to Ignore You

by awesomeaislin



Series: Carry On Countdown 2018 [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), M/M, NOV 25 - Flower shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:49:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomeaislin/pseuds/awesomeaislin
Summary: First day of Carry On countdown is Flower Shop AU."I mean there’d be no point teaching him anyway. He never learns. Everyday is like his first day. He’s a mess, but he seems even worse today. He’s already fallen off a ladder twice, cut his arm on the shears, accidentally sold a bouquet for 50% off, and now... Well now he’s just curled up with his head in his hands.I shouldn’t go over. I shouldn’t indulge him, but I do. I always do."





	Impossible to Ignore You

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly this is a bit shit, but just you wait until tomorrow.

I knew working with him would be a terrible idea. Of course it was. It’s not like we’ve ever gotten along. It’s worse now that we work in the same building.

 

Really _he_ should quit. He doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t know a single thing about flowers. Honestly, if my mum’s shop goes bankrupt it’s probably going to be his fault. It’s always “Which flowers are meant to go in a bridal bouquet, Baz?” or “Baz, can you come help me? I cut myself on the shears?” or worst of all “Baz, I think I might have burnt the roses.”

 

I can’t believe Mum ever gave him a job. I mean he’s useless. Completely useless. And I’m completely in love with him, so I suppose I must be almost as bad.

 

It could never happen. He’ll never like me, so I might as well be mean to him. When he asks for help, I don’t. I just let him flounder. It’s funnier that way. I like the way he turns bright red when he doesn’t know how to answer to customer’s questions.

 

I mean there’d be no point teaching him anyway. He never learns. Everyday is like his first day. He’s always a mess, but he seems even worse today. He’s already fallen off a ladder twice, cut his arm on the shears, accidentally sold a bouquet for 50% off, and now... Well now he’s just curled up with his head in his hands.

 

I shouldn’t go over. I shouldn’t indulge him, but I do. I always do.

 

“Snow, surely my mother isn’t paying you to sit on the floor moping,” I sneer. I can’t be too nice. I wouldn’t want him to catch on.

 

“Surely she’s not paying you to make fun of me,” He responds without looking up. He never goes down without a fight. He always engages. It’s like he doesn’t know how much more fun it makes this.

 

I feign confusion, “Then why is it written in _my_ contract, Snow.”

 

“It’s a bit weird to have a contract with your own mother,” Simon mutters. “Can you just go?”

 

“Go where?” I snicker. “We both work until five. I shouldn’t have to remind you that the schedule is very clear about when we leave.”

 

“Just somewhere,” He sighs. “We always fight, and I’d rather not today.” It’s so unlike him that I do. I walk away and busy myself with helping an old woman find the kind of arrangement she wants.

 

When I look back at him, he’s looks away just as quick. He stares at me every time I turn my back. I don’t understand what he’s doing, but I can’t imagine it’s going to end well.

At around 12 he takes his break for lunch. His sidekick, Penelope Bunce, joins him. She’s here so much that I sometimes think she’s the only thing that even comes close to making Snow function normally. He certainly drops scissors less when she’s around.

She frowns worriedly at him when she thinks no one's looking. I wonder what's wrong with Snow if she doesn’t even know about it.

 

When he comes back from his break he looks more troubled somehow. I should really just let him stew in peace. I should let him ruin half the bouquets, and overwater all of the flowers, and fall of the ladder again. I should let him get himself fired. But when have I ever done what I should?

 

“Snow,” I start. He frowns up at me.

 

“Why don’t you go home?” He scrunches his nose at me.

 

“I won’t tell anyone.” He snorts at me. Like it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever said.

 

“Seriously.”

 

“Why?” He asks. 

 

“Because I don’t need that much help putting up the Christmas Decorations and it’s a slow day, and you keep glaring all the customers away,” I tell him. “Really, I’m doing this for the good of the shop.”

 

He stares at me for a long minute. I think he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth. It’s not going to help him. I’ve been practicing my withering looks since I was tall enough to look in the mirror. I’m very good.

He must decide I’m trustworthy(for some unknown reason) because he nods, stands up, grabs his coat, and leaves. I’m unhappy to see him go, but really he’ll be back. We have work tomorrow.

 

I can do the decorating much better than he can anyway. I’m tall enough to hang things without a ladder. I know where to put the mistletoe so noone actually stands under it. I have all the necessary qualifications.

 

I put on some Taylor Swift as I work, and I hum quietly as I work my way around the shop. The old ladies who frequent our store will eat this display up. It’s very festive and bright. Exactly how most people want their holidays to be. (Not me. I think the holiday should be about more than fairy lights and presents and kissing random strangers under poisonous berries.)

 

It’s hours later when the bell chime rings. “We’re clos-” I start before I see him.

“Snow, what are you doing back here?” I ask. He should be at home, or with Penelope, or with that goatherd he insists is a completely normal friend to have. (She’s not. What kind of 18 year old’s closest friend is a middle aged woman?)

 

He shakes his head at me, and takes a step towards me. I take a step back into the corner. I don’t trust myself to get too close. I’ll do something stupid.

 

He takes another step, but I can’t move back anymore. I’m against the wall. It’s so dusty I’m sure that no person has stepped into this space to look at flowers in ages. Except for me(I really should be a better employee and clean more).

 

He looks up at something above us. “That’s a rubbish place to put mistletoe, Baz.” He comments. “No one is ever going to stand under it.” I think I might kiss him. At least I’d have the excuse.

“We’re standing under it,” I tell him. My voice doesn’t sound as snarky as I want it to.

 

And then he kisses me.

 

He presses me back into the wall of my mother’s flower shop, and he doesn’t let me go. When he stops to breathe, I ask him the only thing on my mind, “Why?”

 

He shrugs and smiles at me, “Mistletoe.”

 

I roll my eyes at him. “Really, why?”

 

“Penny said if I didn’t stop moping about you, she’d set me on fire.”

 

“Sounds about right,” And then I press back into him.


End file.
